


An Ocean of Noise

by Anathema_Cat



Series: King Fíli [3]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Durincest, Fíli and Kíli Lived and Thorin Died, M/M, POV First Person, Sibling Incest, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 20:01:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4032769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anathema_Cat/pseuds/Anathema_Cat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We were blessed with 75 years of peace and success, but now we've come to the battle of our times." </p><p>Fíli and Kíli fight to protect Erebor and Dale from Sauron's army of Easterlings during the War of the Ring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Ocean of Noise

**Author's Note:**

> This story can be read on its own and was inspired by the Erebor theme of [FiKi Week.](http://gatheringfiki.tumblr.com/Fikiweek)

I first heard my brother's voice while drowning in chaos. My world seethed with chaos, noise, a flurry of confusing activity. My world was very small then. I was small. Just five years old when he was born. 

I was a forgotten child on a bench by the wall of an infirmary room, hands clutched together between my knees, eyes wide. Our mother yelled and cursed, our father grunted occasionally at how tightly she squeezed his hand, but kept up a calm litany of encouragement. The midwife chattered unceasing instructions, to Mama, to Papa, to her assistant, to the dwarves who swept in and out with whatever she needed. Uncle Thorin kept sneaking in for news, kept getting kicked out. Every time I thought I'd be okay, Mama would make some choking noise of pain, startling me.

I shouldn't have been there. I had insisted, and the baby was coming so quickly they soon ceased arguing with me. I wanted to leave, was scared to move. And then. Into chaos, Kíli's cry. So loud, yet it extinguished the chaos. In a single moment my brother blanketed the room with peace. 

_I don't think I ever told you about that. You still the chaos, Kíli. You are my peace._

But is chaos inescapable? In an ocean of noise, I was certain I heard my brother's voice for the last time. With men and elves, we fought a seemingly infinite tide of orcs. Red and screams and death surrounded us, but we fought together as we were meant to, we persevered. Until. Until we followed Thorin into an ambush, warned just too late. 

We nearly died that day, my brother and I. Kíli spent countless tormented days thinking I _was_ dead. I can't fathom that sea of pain; I believe we need each other like we need to breathe. We did lose our uncle to the chaos that day, but Kíli and I were lucky. We pulled through together.

And now, today, we are together as chaos descends again, a swirling miasma of hatred and fear. And resolve. We will stop the tide of chaos here. 

We know the real battle is far away in Mordor, but ours will be dire enough. An army outnumbering us by four times fast approaches Dale. I imagine I can hear stomping boots, jangling weapons, war drums, though it's not yet that close. The humans and dwarves who are too young, old, or sick shelter in the mountain. Everyone else has prepared for battle. 

We were blessed with 75 years of peace and success, but now we've come to the battle of our times. Some dwarves asked that Kíli or I remain in the mountain, to live to rule here should the worst befall outside. We refused, of course. If we lose, nothing will remain to salvage. These truly may be the last days of hearing my brother's voice. 

I always scoffed at talk of ones and soulmates. But who can deny that Kíli and I share a destiny? We are bound together, we complement each other. I could have asked for nothing more in a life partner, would've gotten so much less.

I share this last evening of peace with those closest to me. In Kíli's and my suite, dimly lit with a crackling fire, we drink ale and discuss anything but the coming battle. Tonight is for living, celebrating our lives together. The battle plans are settled, the armory stocked, the infirmary stands ready. It is the calm before the storm, and we take full advantage of it.

I watch my companions trade stories and jibes. The captain of the guard, among the first at Erebor after we reclaimed it, was barely more than a child then. Now he will confidently lead an army. And Dain. He has come to us again when our need is most dire. He left a beloved son to defend the Iron Hills so that he can stand with us against the tide of evil. Very old, very grey, still strong.

Glóin, hiding his concern for Gimli but not his pride. From Glóin we learned of dire tidings from Rivendell, though we had already witnessed the evil stirring as messengers from Mordor demanded from us submission and loyalty and news of hobbits. The first messengers were sent away in ridicule, the rest didn’t leave alive.

Bifur, with wealth and power at his disposal, still crafts beautiful toys. Bofur has honed his fighting skills. He is a formidable warrior, yet has lost none of his humor or compassion. Dori, fussier with age, but no less strong. Nori aged into responsibility, a trusted and loyal partner. Bombur, almost too large now to move, has earned his rest. Dwalin, mentor, teacher, protector, warrior, friend. He has trained the army that will prevail against evil. 

And Kíli. _My Kíli._ He turns his grin to me when he feels my eyes on him. His mouth broadens into a smile, a flash of white amidst dark beard. I don't wish to make Kíli my sole focus just yet, but I take a moment to absorb his smile and almost get lost in his eyes. Warm eyes draw me in, deep like a secret pool in ancient forest. He offers love and promises for tonight. I return his smile with a wink and drag my eyes away.

With our lives, we honor those we've lost. Thorin, of course. Balin, Óin, and Ori, gone to retake Moria. They've gone silent these past few years. I fear for them. Bilbo. If he yet lives, let him stay content and at peace in Rivendell. Mahal let us shelter him from the spreading chaos.

 

The morning brings an army of black armored and bearded Easterlings to Dale’s border. With our human partners, we mobilize in Dale. The elves cannot help us. They have their own dam to build in the Mirkwood. We must stop two forces of evil from joining.

The enemy, a seething sea of clashing iron, is confident enough to cede us the high ground of the valley. Humans and dwarves are arrayed in front of a command post. As king, I will remain safe for a time. I expect it to be short.

It begins with a wordless howl from the ranks of dwarves as enemy war drums accelerate. Two oceans collide in a crash of metal. Chaos is sure to follow.

 

Kíli and I are wolves picking off our prey. We have the upper-hand at the moment, the strength of planning, strategy, and choice. He takes out targets with his bow while I shield him from others. I gut enemies from the edges with my axe while he shelters me. I test the strength of the enemy, assess how it moves as a body, as individuals. 

Axe away, and my swords flow out as a tall Easterling swings at my partner. Catch his axe high on my left, hold him back with my right, Kíli's back rolls across mine, and he takes the head with his broadsword. We are a deadly harmony of strike, parry, kill before we're noticed and move back to safety. 

 

I watch, direct, cringe, yell with Kíli just behind me as the screams and clash of battle flow up with the wind and tang of sweat and iron. Kíli ensures the right runners get the right messages, the symphony at the command center contrasting the cacophony below. 

I knew the island of safety would drown, and now I see when it will happen. I glance at Brand. He has seen it, too, as have Dain and Kíli. We, along with strategy and choice, will be pulled into the chaos all too soon. 

Kíli leans into my side as if to relay a message. Calm flows into my head with his deep voice saying two simple words. "For Bilbo." I nod. 

I signal my company as Brand does his, and we move out to flank the enemy. We march willingly into this ocean of noise. Thought narrows to a single point, and my brother and I whirl in waves of shouting, rage, fear, death. We fight.

 

We fight. I've been fighting forever. I don't feel my legs, just anchors for my torso, my arms. I don't feel my arms, I just keep them moving. I pull my eyes up briefly as I push a dead enemy back into one soon to die. Black armored brutes move to trap a squad of humans. With heavy arm, hoarse voice, I signal the dwarves near me to pull back.

Hamstring attackers, keep fighting the whirlpools. Somehow I know the current has separated my brother from me. Wade back, skirt fighters, there - sable hair. 

Following a skirmish up a hill into woods, weapons ringing in the stillness. The black head falls, _oh, Mahal, no._ And a grunt, a shove, a sharp rock, and -

I have to stand. Stand up. Find... My head swims sickeningly. The earth is swaying, no, it's my body. I fight to stay upright, but it's a losing battle. I'm toppling, over again onto the hard ground, awkwardly on my side. I want to keep my eyes open, but my eyelids are too heavy. From somewhere distant, I hope the rock jabbing into my leg will keep me conscious. It's a vain hope...

 

I walk in mountain tunnels, more narrow than they should be, the ceilings too low, the halls too quiet. Mist floats past my boots that send echoes around my head. 

Noises in a room ahead to the left. Dwarves? Does someone live in this tomb? The room lacks a door, yet is covered by a filmy curtain attached to nothing. It ripples in a chill breeze. Two vague figures lie on the floor of the room. I focus on one as the curtain stills. I gasp, breath halted as my heart thuds and stops, frozen in my compressing chest. My love, my only, writhing under someone else. I can't see who it is until the curtain shifts again. 

Breath rushes from my lungs as my heart starts with another thud. It's me with my mouth on his chest, hand trailing slowly down his ribs. Fascinated with this perspective, I reach out to move the curtain aside for a better view. It's our last night together. He's at my mercy.

Kíli loves to be teased. It is indescribably... I don't have words for how hot it is. He wants to be slowly turned on until he's about to explode, begging for more, then begging for mercy, then 'just _fuck_ me already', then worked up even further. In the beginning, we'd try so hard to hold out, to make foreplay last, to drive him absolutely crazy. But we couldn't. One of us would lose control, would succumb to the lust, the mad desire, would either come or take the other fast and hard.

But now. With time comes a loss of lust, yes. A loss of urgency. And we've gained things that may sound utterly boring when tied to sex - understanding, knowledge, trust, humor, patience. Would an outsider feel sorry for us, sure that the loss of desperate passion meant resignation to the land of old and routine? 

I hope so. Then my beautiful Kíli can wink at his ignorance, make him thinks Kíli's tired of his staid relationship, and I will pretend I'm jealous. Then Kíli will tease _me_ until he can't stand it anymore and we tangle into a sea of delirious pleasure. 

I take one hesitant step and fall into the memory. I'm on top of Kíli, his dark hair spread on the floor, eyelids fluttering beneath perfectly arched brows, lips parted with soft moans. His warm hands are on my back, long fingers sporadically massaging my taut muscles. He's too distracted to focus on my body, but I love his hands on me wherever he settles them. 

"Mmm," I hum as my teeth graze a hard nipple. My lips and tongue follow dark hair down to defined abdomen, down to graze my tongue along -

 

_Where am I? Why am I describing - ? Are my eyes open?_ The sky is filled with questions, a drum beating slowly in the distance. No, my eyes are closed, a rock is jabbing into my leg. I crack open a crusted eyelid. _Where is Kíli? No. No no. Oh no._

__Did I see Kíli die? Confusion, I don’t know. If he’s dead, I don’t wish to live. Yet I have my responsibility to my home. I push aside my pain. Swaying I make my way carefully toward the battleground, trying to keep my heavy boots from crunching leaves and cracking sticks._ _

__A noise. I move my head slowly to peer around a tree trunk and see a man, hair matted with blood and sword raised, as he moves in on a kill. A dwarf with dark hair is on the ground, scrabbling backward with a hand and feet, an arm holding a broken sword to block a blow. I manage to funnel rage into heavy arms and legs and charge the enemy._ _

__His head is off in a stroke. I stand gasping for air as I watch blood spurt from the neck as the body slowly collapses. I resist the urge to hack it to pieces. That wouldn't help._ _

__"Fíli!" A beloved voice exclaims from the dead when the body hits the ground. I slowly transfer my gaze toward the voice as fleeing adrenaline leaves me spent and my head swims. My arms drop, slack, and swords clatter to the ground._ _

__"I'm so glad you're alive, I was looking for you, and I think you saved me, thanks by the way, I wasn't sure I was getting out of that... one..." Words poured out in a rush, then trickled to a halt._ _

__"Fíli?" Kíli said softly. "You look like you've seen a ghost."_ _

__I do fear that this dirty, beautiful apparition is a hallucination, my exhausted brain conjuring a mirage in an endless desert. I throw myself with a last surge of energy on top of my prone brother and press our lips together._ _

__Kíli pushes me up. "I'm glad to see you, too, but is this really the time?"_ _

__"Shut up and kiss me," I growl._ _

__Urgency in my voice must have prompted Kíli to obey, though a look of concern remains on his face. We kiss deeply, taste copper and salt._ _

__He’s real. He’s alive. My mind succumbs. I roll off Kíli, facing away from him, rest my head in my hands, and _sob_ like a child. I can’t stop the wrenching cries. Kíli just wraps his arms around me, lets me get it out. _ _

__The sky has faded to purple when I sit up. Kíli sits up with me, rests his head on my back, arms around my chest. The sounds of battle have quieted, and a few tentative bird calls break the stillness of the woods. "I feared I saw you die," I whisper. Another shudder and then I’m completely still._ _

__“Oh, Fíli,” my beloved murmurs, and then he’s in front of me on his knees, kissing my fingers, my forehead, my eyelids, my chin. Then he kisses my lips tentatively, almost like our first time. I return the kiss slowly, savoring his lips, his tongue, his _life_. Our hands clasp between us, and Kíli pulls me up, lips still on mine. We slowly part, and he pulls me into him. I hold on as tightly as I can, breathe him in. _ _

__“We should get back,” I whisper. I feel him nod. Holding hands, we make our way carefully around the pickets of the invading army. Soon I must assess the damage, count the dead, prepare for tomorrow, but now I absorb Kíli’s love, and I hope. Hope that the two of us will survive again, as I know that we _will_ stop Mordor’s armies from joining to attack the last elven sanctuaries, from carrying chaos to the Shire. _ _

I hope that _hope_ will survive. That my brother and I will see a Middle Earth freed from chaos, at peace, quiet as the moment Kíli was born. 


End file.
